Smoked
by FortunesRevolver
Summary: When he stops to evaluate everything that's happened to him in the past few hours, Leon can't help but think he really shouldn't be considering this the strangest. Rated to be safe...?


...I honestly don't know what the hell this is. I just... I don't even know. I guess I've been playing Resident Evil a lot lately and I'm trying to pull myself back into writing fanfiction. It's three in the morning, I'm tired, I was bored, and for some reason this idea was quite funny to me. Perhaps I'm simply lacking in sleep...

In any case, this is un-beta'd, as I wasn't able to find one at this hour. I'm fairly certain this could be labeled under "crack", but I will leave it up to all of you to decide exactly what this is. I've never written for this serious before - ever. Not even a roleplay, so I apologise if I've managed to completely muck it up. I lacked the courage to try and write something for Leon and Claire, so I opted for this instead. Whatever it is.

Enjoy...?

* * *

Leon narrows his eyes and tries to ignore the dull throbbing sensation forming in the back of his head as he navigates the small motorboat across the lake. The storm pelts his body with chilling rain, and he wants nothing more than to turn back around and take shelter in the small cabin he recently woke up in. But he knows he can't do that; he still hasn't found Ashley and he already wasted a few hours unconscious. He doesn't have much time to waste frivolously.

Two lights on the far end of the water catch his attention, and for a moment, he wonders how a fire can be burning so brightly in this weather. He's started to shiver and he knows he needs to get out of the water, if only for a little while. His body is still recovering from whatever it was that knocked him out, and he really can't afford to pass out a second time.

_Just a few minutes,_ he thinks as he navigates himself into the small cove, _just long enough to warm up. _

After all, what good would he be to the president _or_ Ashley if he passed out again? Especially on a boat in the middle of monster infested waters. Monsters he certainly didn't feel like spending the better part of an hour attempting to harpoon with rust covered spears as they buffeted him about the waters. Again.

With a heavy sigh, Leon's gaze falls on a wooden dock about twenty yards into the cove. The wood is slightly rotten, but it appears sturdy. It occurs to him that the location of a dock and shack in what should be an empty cave should send him on high alert, but he's too sore and tired to care. All he wants to do is get out of the damn boat and sit down for a bit. Maybe he'd take his frustration out on the various barrels lining the dock's walkways – his knife hasn't seen some action for a while, and he didn't need to waste the precious ammo he had. Besides, there was just something much more _satisfying_ about shattering the barrels with his own strength instead of the using a firearm.

When he reaches the dock, he climbs out of the boat with ease and stretches, relishing in the silence the rocky surroundings bring him. No shouts of garbled foreign languages can be heard and he doesn't have to worry about being pelted with and unrealistic amount of unending explosives or farming tools. The smell of decay he'd gotten so used to was washed away with the rain and rocky walls, and he takes a moment to consider what would happen if he decided to just take up living here.

He could totally pull off being a hermit.

But then he reminds himself that he's on a mission to save the daughter of the president, and he somehow doubted that the man in charge of his country of birth would take well to Leon's cave-life. He'd have to save the girl first, then maybe he could come back here after it was all over and just hide away for a while… Alas, that wouldn't work out for him in the end either. Between Hunnigan and Claire, one of them – God forbid it was both – would likely show up and grab whatever part of his body they could first and drag him back to society.

Women were scary sometimes.

Forcing the rush of thoughts from his mind, Leon settles on one of the higher parts of the dock and dangles one leg over the edge. The other is bent and pulled up to his chest, allowing his arm to dangle over it lazily. His gaze settles on the water and he watches shadows dart about the still waters. Just as he is about to lean forward to get a better look at the fish swimming around, one of them – impaled upon what appears to be a homemade harpoon – is thrust in his face. He jumps, hand reflexively jerking towards his handgun as he scrambles to stand up. How had one of them gotten in here?!

"'Ello again, stranger."

Leon freezes and stares at the person before him. It takes his mind only a second to catch up with the situation, and he silently chastises himself for not taking better note of the _blue_ fire he'd passed to get in here. Who _else_ would set up shop in a cave like this? How the man managed to travel and carry so much with him – let alone appear in multiple locations without them bumping into each other – was beyond him. Right now he was subtly attempting to cover the fact that he was pointing the handle of his firearm at the self-proclaimed merchant instead of the barrel.

The hooded figure either didn't notice the slip, or hadn't bothered to comment on it, but a smirk can still be seen in his eyes. It's almost eerie how much the man can express with just a fifth of his face showing, though compared to the man's impeccable timing and location was slightly more-so. Part of Leon was somewhat convinced he wasn't even human. Maybe a vampire or some sort of faerie. Or a troll. Or maybe even a really tall Gremlin. Troll seemed the most likely.

The Merchant is once again waving the fish in his face. The tip of the harpoon just barely misses his nose and on reflex Leon takes a step back, frowning. He opens his mouth to tell the man to cut it out, but another noise echoes off the cave walls before he can speak and a faint tingling sensation forms on his cheeks. Damn sound-amplifying cove.

"Feelin' hungry, stranger?"

Leon clears his throat and slips his gun into the holster on his leg, feeling utterly ridiculous. It occurs to him that he hasn't eaten in a good amount of time. Was it yesterday? The day before? He doesn't have a solid grip on just how long he's been on this mission. Time is precious, very precious, but his stomach once again lets out a sound of protest and he's certain the man is smirking behind that damned bandana. He really should just shoot the bastard again. It isn't as if he wouldn't get up again in five minutes – which is another reason the agent is fully certain the man is no more human than the harpoon he's still waving like a parade flag of the dead fish on it.

"I'm—" He begins, but another rumble silences him and the tingling in his cheeks intensified.

"Guess you'll be joinin' me today then, eh?" The Merchant chuckles and motions for Leon to follow him, turning around to walk up a nearby set of stairs. For a moment, he doesn't move and his gaze shifts to the boat only a few feet away. He really should just get in and hurry off, but the sudden sizzling sound of something being cooked in a frying pan and the aroma that followed keeps him from following through with it. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his noise, wondering what exactly he'd done in life to send him down the path he was on and walked up the stairs.

When he stops to evaluate everything that's happened to him in the past few hours, Leon can't help but think he really shouldn't be considering this the strangest. He sits at a table made up of the very barrels he'd planned on knifing – and be begrudgingly admitted he could always attack them for existing later – across from a man he's certain at this point isn't entirely _sane. _Though he can cook, and Leon supposes that's enough for him. The food is warm and warmth is a blessing in this place. Warm and not poisoned. Two things he greatly enjoys being able to find when the alternative is evil Spanish-screaming cultists.

"Not sure that bone there is gonna do ya, stranger."

Leon blinks and looks down at his plate. It's empty, and he's somehow managed to pick the bones of the fish dry. Perhaps it had been the adrenaline and situation that caused him to forget his hunger, but now that he's presented with the chance, he feels as if he could eat every fish in the lake. Including the lizard-fish hybrid _thing_ he'd harpooned down earlier. He hears the Merchant chuckle and shift around for a moment before a large, steaming bass is tossed on the plate in front of him.

"Thanks," he mumbles and starts in on what he vaguely remembers as his sixth fish.

Several hours later, Leon's headache has faded away but another one is quickly forming as the young blonde beside him chatters endlessly in a hushed tone. He realises that his is likely her way of keeping her nerves in check and avoiding a break down, but really, he can only hear so much about a pet ferret being carried around by the Whitehouse dog and how _'cuuuuuuute'_ it is before he wants to start smashing barrels again.

The two of them reach a corner and Leon holds up a hand to silence her as he prepares himself to shoot anything that might pose a threat and presses himself against the rocky wall nearby. Counting to three in his head slowly, he peers around the edge, gun at the ready, and nearly releases a bullet into the all-too-close face.

"Welcome back, stranger! Got some _rare_ things on sale." There is emphasis on the word 'rare', an all-too-happy emphasis that's clearly covering up amusement.

Leon inhales slowly and lowers his weapon, gesturing to Ashley that they're in the clear and she can step forward. This is the girl's first encounter with the cloak-veiled salesman and the agent can't help but wonder how she'll react. He's a very different kind of shady than the 'underground' dealers of goods in the United States.

"What're you buyin'?" The Merchant chuckles and reaches for the opening of his coat, lifting it to show the goods he has to offer and it takes all of Leon's self-control to keep from swearing.

"Is that…" Ashley begins, her voice curious and uncertain, "…smoked fish?"

"Heh, heh, heh..."

He was going to need a _lot_ of barrels to get passed this.

* * *

...So yes. This was a thing. I don't even know anymore. I need sleep.


End file.
